


Keep This Pain

by PreseaMoon



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:49:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27039004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PreseaMoon/pseuds/PreseaMoon
Summary: upon returning from hell, Vergil is too familiar and Dante is not familiar enough.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 58
Collections: Miscellaneous Must-read Fics





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I didn’t mean for this to have so much idle dialogue, but I went with it because I like writing dialogue. Also because I haven't written them before and don't really know how I want to portray them or their dynamic. It's a process.
> 
> Uhhm if parts of this come off shippy that is accidental/not intentional. Just throwing that out there.

It becomes apparent very quickly—too quickly, in the space of a blink and a breath and a shared glance—that Vergil will be living with him.

Ostensibly, the only place Dante has to return to is Devil May Cry, and the only place Vergil has to return to is Dante. So, that is where his brother takes them when their tour of the underworld has reached the end Dante wasn’t aware was coming. Both the ending and the location go without saying. Apparently. Vergil decides them wholly on his own without Dante’s input.

Dante anticipated this to an extent. Whether he is human, demon, or both, his brother doesn’t particularly like him. He’s never been keen to receive Dante’s opinion on pretty much anything. Why would he, when he’s so opposed to being wrong and all Dante ever wants to do is disagree with him?

That Vergil opened a portal and chose their destination is refreshingly Vergil.

That Vergil opened a portal to the human world, to Dante’s shop no less, and stepped through with him, is so un-Vergil that his fingers tremble. 

He went to step through, only to stop when Dante hesitated, and then wrapped his hand around Dante’s elbow to ensure neither of them stayed behind.

It’s a good thing. Theoretically, or something. Broadly. In general.

Good.

Vergil wants to stay with him. For once.

In the same realm. For once.

For once, Dante and all that he entails isn’t the most unattractive option.

That should make him happy. It does make him happy, but this flavor of happiness is so long buried its sweetness is nauseating. Instinctively, he wants nothing to do with it. He’s compelled to take it and shove it where he shoves all other feels and impulses that only burden him.

One minute they are in hell, with its empty, heavy atmosphere and endless, reassuring demon hordes.

The next minute they’re in his empty once office and… it’s empty. Of people, that is. All his shit is where he left it, to his surprise. Maybe he shouldn’t be surprised by that. Maybe he should feel something about being surprised.

Maybe it’s been, like, a day in the human world, and Morrison hasn’t been able to do anything aside from throw out literal garbage.

Dante takes all of his thoughts and drops them like an anchor on top of his happiness, pulling it further out of sight.

“What’s this?” is the stupid thing Dante’s brain settles on saying.

“Don’t tell me you’ve already forgotten what your office looks like,” Vergil comments, letting his stupidity go unanswered and dismissing the Yamato. “It hasn’t been that long. Probably.”

“Probably, you say.” 

Time doesn’t exist in hell. Or, it does, but it’s not equivalent to the human world so it more or less doesn’t exist. It doesn’t count. It’s not the same thing. Not that Dante’s biological clock is aligned properly no matter which of the two he’s in, anyway.

“Where’s the bathroom?”

“Upstairs?”

Vergil gives him a look and Dante tells him more specific directions. Then, his brother is gone and Dante is alone in the lobby.

His fingers twitch, his palms itch.

His brother is gone.

Dante goes to his emergency stash, which has mercifully not been raided. He avoids thinking about what that may imply.

As if it is a year ago, or two or ten or twenty, Dante grabs a bottle of whiskey by its neck, drops into his chair, and downs a third of it in one grateful go, relishing the burn of it and the way it roils in his empty stomach. For good measure, he takes another swig before setting it down. The glass thudding against the desk is so satisfying he almost lifts it to his mouth once more.

This, perhaps more than anything else, he has missed most.

On the second floor the shower turns on. Distantly, Dante is relieved that it does.

While their clothes were kept intact and mostly free of viscera through their demonic powers, their bodies didn’t fare so well. That goes for Dante, too, obviously, but this place has one shower and... 

Well, it’s not like Vergil is going to stick around once he’s done, so who cares if Dante stinks of demon carcass for another day or two.

It’s fine.

It really is fine.

There are more important things to tend to, anyway.

He takes another long drink.

He feels his head swim, his vision loosening at its edges. He stands up, lets his body sway with the sensation before he drops back in the chair. 

The first order of business is…

Morrison. Lady and Trish. Nero. In that order.

The phone is plugged in. It’s probably working.

Dante grimaces. It can only be expected of him, right? If he doesn’t let them know as soon as possible that he’s no longer in hell. They’ll act like he put it off whether he lets them know now or a week from now, anyway. Because everyone is going to be justifiably pissed at him for one reason or another.

Nero especially, whom he’s definitely not going to call right now because he could be literally anywhere. In any timezone. Waiting specifically for this call so he can chew him out, then when Dante hangs up on him, get on the first flight over so he can kick his ass in person.

He has such a spirited nephew.

Maybe Morrison will show up in the morning. The place is his now, after all. If that happens, this dilemma will solve itself because there’s no way Morrison would keep it to himself. Lady and Trish would rush over and berate him and Dante wouldn’t have to lift a single finger.

Maybe they’d even handle calling Nero. Or make Vergil do it.

That’s kind of nice, honestly. The best plan, and it might not even happen for a week or more.

Pleased with his problem solving, Dante finishes off the bottle of whiskey. As he does so, through the bottom of the glass he sees Vergil making his way back downstairs. He narrows his eyes and continues looking at him through the distortion the glass provides, half-convinced he’s not there.

Except, then Vergil speaks, and he sounds more bemused than irritated when he asks, “What are you doing?”

“Hey, big brother,” Dante drawls, actively fighting and failing against the urge to play up the alcohol’s effect on him. He keeps the bottle tipped in front of his face like some tragic barrier. “What’re _you_ doing?”

Now, there’s the irritation. Vergil makes his way over and swipes the bottle out of his hands. As he scans first the cover then the empty contents his frown twists into a scowl. “Really?”

“Really really.”

God, he should really shut up. As much as Vergil dislikes being ignored, that has to be preferable to whatever it is Dante is doing right now.

Vergil sighs and sets the bottle down without a sound. “How much of this did you drink?”

The mere fact Vergil has chosen to ask this question gives Dante pause, and he has to think whether the bottle had been previously opened when he already knows it wasn’t. “Uh.” He glances at the bottle. It’s labeled with 60% alcohol. Shouldn’t there be the ounces there, too, or something? He points feebly at the neck. “This much.”

“Impressive. Considering I was gone ten minutes at most.”

“What’s really impressive is that your hair isn’t even a little wet. Isn’t that, like, an abuse of demonic power or something? Wait.” Dante frowns. Narrows his eyes as he thinks. Then, they widen and he snaps. “A misuse of power. Demonic power. Convenient, though…” Dante trails off, thinking of all the times he’s left his hair sopping because there weren’t any clean towels.

Vergil is giving him a strange look.

After two and a half seconds Dante realizes he recognizes the look. Or maybe he doesn’t. Recognize isn’t the right word. He can’t place it from their childhood or later, but intuitively he understands that Vergil is inspecting him. More than that, Vergil sees him. Facets of himself that should not exist beyond his self-concept are laid bare in the space between them.

Of course they do, though, because this is his brother, his twin, and decades and death and hell and opposing natures cannot truly sever their bond.

As if something like a “bond” exists at all. When has it ever been more than a chain?

Vergil says, with no affection and the slightest contempt, “I suppose it’s not surprising you’d discover a method of getting drunk, but is now really the time, Dante?”

Dante’s outrage flares so bright his head spins and his eyes burn. He lets out a rough breath. “Anytime is a good time, if you put your mind to it,” Dante answers with a grin, trying to will Vergil’s perception of him into reality. “Want some?”

“I’ll pass,” Vergil says slowly.

He’s doing it again. Looking into him. Looking through him, when you get down to it.

Dante wants him to stop. He thinks of saying so. It would be just like his brother to only listen to him now, after the damage is done and it doesn’t matter anymore. Playing nice was so much easier in hell.

Instead of playing nice, Dante bites his tongue until blood fills his mouth. After swallowing it he laughs, and ignores the twitch on his brother’s face as the scent reaches him. 

“Well, as far as other refreshments go, I don’t know what there is because I haven’t been here.” Dante jumps to his feet as an idea pops into his head. “You like tea still? Yeah, you like tea still. I’ll go get some, so you just… wait right there—right here, like a good big brother, alright?”

Dante occupies himself looking through the desk drawers. His wallet is not in any of them.

Whatever. Not like he needs it.

Is there money in his bank account? There should be, he thinks. Unless Morrison’s been using whatever was left of his pay to cover the utilities. There’s probably cash in his room, but he’s not going up there right now.

As he passes his brother, Vergil grabs his upper arm and reels him back. “Brother, let’s save your nonsense for later.”

Dante pulls out of grasp and holds up his hands. “Fine. Have it your way. But let it not be said that I did not try to be a hospitable host.”

They look at each other, then, saying nothing, and it’s during this split second that everything slots together. Dante is not simply a host. Vergil’s presence is not going to be as temporary as his brain is insisting. The reality that Dante has not dared to hope for sinks in and sobers him. Its clarity resounds, and stings, and demands his attention. Demands his reaction.

He breaks his brother’s gaze to find his emergency stash, only to flinch back to Vergil when he realizes he’s been caught doing so.

“Well,” Dante says, and starts to pace because it seems like something he would do, “I have one bed. So, that.”

“Is that a problem?”

Dante stops pacing just so his pointed blink can have its full effect. “No? I mean, not if you don’t think so.” It only occurs to Dante after he says this that he’s not sure if that means they’re sharing the bed like they’re five, or it’s assumed the bed is Vergil’s, or that it’s Dante’s because Vergil has no intention of ever sleeping during his stay.

Dante likes sleeping but he’s not really sure what his brother’s stance on it is. When they met as teenagers there weren’t really any sleepovers, nor was it a topic of conversation. Then in hell, well, it was hell.

He’s not about to ask now.

Dante resumes pacing. “Moving right along, then. Uh. You don’t have any assets, right? Right, stupid question. So—” Dante stops.

How is he supposed to say any of this? All these mundane steps and details that add up to a human existence. Where does he start?

He doesn’t know how to have a conversation with Vergil in general, let alone about this.

He doesn’t want to talk to Vergil.

This, too, was easier in hell. Their blades spoke for them most often and words were reduced to practicalities and banter. Hell was the most pleasant stasis he’s had the misfortune to endure. It wasn’t so bad there, really. Not his style at all, and the lack of alcohol and food sucked, but it wasn’t intolerable and he wasn’t in a rush to leave.

It just went without saying that he would, because as much as Dante doesn’t belong in the human world, he belongs in the demon world even less. That it might be the other way around isn’t something that bears consideration.

“Do you not want me to stay here?” Vergil asks, but he doesn’t sound confused. He sounds like he’s trying to figure something out and wants to determine if he’s on the right track.

“Of course I want you to stay. Here. With me.” After a beat—after he remembers, Dante adds, “I’m keeping an eye on you, remember? I let you out of my sight for a minute and you might? I don’t know. Come up with a stupider idea than cutting yourself in two plus baggage.”

Dante puts a hand to his face, but Vergil only considers him with a hum.

After a moment longer, Vergil says, “Maybe we should discuss the details in the morning.”

Dante lets out a breath of relief.

Good. He’s a fan of delaying the inevitable.

Only. 

“Does that imply we’re sleeping?”

“Are you not exhausted?”

“I am… dead tired, actually.”

The longer they’re here in the human world the more acutely he feels it, as if exhaustion is a slowly spreading contamination. He should have passed out in his chair to avoid this whole thing, this confrontation, this simple conversation. What was he thinking?

Vergil walks away, towards the stairs. “I’d advise bathing first. If you don’t, I can’t promise I won’t shove you out of the bed.”

“Oh, so you’ll be sleeping, too. Very cool.” Dante grimaces. Trying to bait him into a reaction isn’t really what he means to do here. 

Vergil’s pace doesn’t falter, though. He continues on his way like Dante hasn’t said a thing. In spite of himself, Dante does find it a little grating, because he knows Vergil is annoyed.

“I’ll be up eventually,” Dante calls out after Vergil’s made it to the landing.

Then, Dante gives serious consideration to passing out in his chair. Compared to what the demon world had to offer, it’s the most comfortable thing he’s ever sat on. Plus, it’s been so long. He misses his desk.

Not like Vergil is going to come back and drag his ass to bed.

Though, is that really something to count on. If Vergil does it’s going to be incredibly awkward.

Not that Dante cares if it’s awkward. But.

With a sigh, Dante takes a second bottle of whiskey and heads up to the bathroom.

The room is impressively clean, empty bottles thrown out, only a tiny well managed bin for trash, the sink clear and shiny. It’s warm with humidity and the mirror is too fogged over to see his reflection.

Dante tosses his gloves to the floor and drops his bloodied bandages into the empty trash. When he turns the heat on all the way the water comes out hot almost immediately. He keeps his arm under it until his skin reddens.

The rest of his clothes, aside from his coat, get dropped on his gloves, creating the first new pile of clothes in his nice, presentable bathroom. Maybe he should burn them. Including his boots. Just as a precaution. What if they brought back some weird bacteria and in the morning his bathroom is overrun with demon mold or vines or something.

Dante stares at the pile. Sighs.

He’s not setting a fire in his bathroom right now. It’ll have to wait.

The shower is possibly the best thing he’s ever experienced. It gives new allure to waiting longer than is reasonable to shower. Clean water is so great. Hot water is so great. It’s so satisfying seeing blood and grime slip off his skin and swirl down the drain.

Hell doesn’t know what it’s missing. Dante somehow didn’t know either.

For several long minutes he just sits under the too hot water, letting it relax the tense muscles in his neck and shoulders. Then, he gets to work thoroughly scrubbing his hair and skin until he thinks it may split open.

Once he’s out of the shower and dried he realizes there aren’t any other piles of clothes around to pull something fresher from.

So Dante walks to his room naked and ignores whatever look may be on his brother’s face as he digs through his dresser for something to sleep in.

With his back to him, Dante says, “Aww, were you waiting up for me? That might be a little too close to sweet coming from you, Brother.”

“I was curious what you’d do.”

“Huh? You do realize I live here, right?” He finds an acceptable pair of sweatpants and slips them on. “Don’t tell me, actually. I don’t wanna know.”

“I assure you, I do realize you live here. I remember. Besides, your scent is all over the place.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Dante drums his fingers on the dresser’s surface, considering. Then, he opens another drawer and rummages through it for a shirt. “And just so you know, we don’t casually talk about peoples’ scents in the human realm. It’s a little invasive.”

“Is it, now?”

“I don’t know. Sounds like it’d be creepy, anyway.”

“Do you find it creepy, Dante?”

Dante drags a sharp tooth down his tongue, taking care to not draw blood. He takes a breath, takes a shirt and throws it across the room. “If you’re gonna ask me like that, yeah, maybe I do. So, knock it off.” He grabs another shirt and puts it on. 

Turning around, he finds Vergil sitting on the bed. On the side Dante prefers. He’s decked out in his normal clothes sans coat and boots. It doesn’t really look comfortable for sleeping. “You want to borrow some pajamas or something?”

Vergil raises an eyebrow at him.

“Maybe you don’t remember, but here in the human realm we get changed when we go to bed. And, okay, fine, sometimes we don’t, but it’s a subpar experience, trust me. What?”

“Nothing. Fine.”

“What.”

“If you’re offering me a change of clothes, give them to me.”

Dante takes a breath and returns to the dresser. In a much shorter time he finds another pair of sweatpants and a shirt Vergil can put on. He walks to the other side of the bed and tosses them beside Vergil before crawling under the cover. He sets his back to Vergil and slides an arm under his pillow, listening for his brother’s movements.

Vergil’s weight leaves the bed. Dante envisions it never returning and his heart stutters. He puts all his brain power into keeping his breath slow and even.

“What did you mean?” Vergil asks.

Dante contemplates playing dead even though he’s obviously still awake. Rather than wait for Vergil to call him out, however, he replies, “What did I mean when? I need specifics.”

“Just a moment ago. What you didn’t want to know.”

“Oh, that. Don’t remember.” Dante shifts to his stomach and pushes his face into the pillow, signalling that the time for talking is over. Sleep has arrived. Sleep means exhaustion has caught up to him, which means Vergil cannot expect Dante’s brain to operate to his satisfaction.

Vergil says nothing, but Dante can feel his eyes on him.

There’s a soft exhale. Then, Vergil’s weight returns to the bed and tension built up in Dante’s shoulders eases. His breath comes easy again, and he almost wants to say something stupid just to frustate Vergil into berating him.

He doesn’t. All the energy he has left can only go towards one thing.

In the morning, his brother will still be here. Dante has this certainty in his soul. His brother will be here and they will have to talk. They’ll have to have a real conversation, about living together and finances and what the future is going to look like.

When is the last time he gave the future serious consideration, or consideration at all? It’s always been too dim to bother.

For a long time he considers that, and whether Vergil’s life means the future is bright by default.

He listens to Vergil’s breathing behind him while his brother does the same, neither of them sleeping but pretending they are.

Honestly, what a handful his big brother is, whether they’re on opposing sides or the same.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am especially not satisfied with how this part came out, but it has some redeeming qualities so you get to perceive it.

Of the innumerable things that have been stolen, stripped away, burned out, and cut from Vergil, what always remains is Dante. Sometimes intentional other times not, his brother is as integral a component to his identity as his human soul and his demon. In some ways, his brother is the framework holding up all else, because even when nothing is left of him Dante remains.

Some would say that this is because they are incomplete halves who are only made whole by each other. Fanciful words spoken only because they are twins or because they are the sons of Sparda or both. 

That said, there is some truth to it.

If Dante had never been born, Vergil would be more.

If Vergil had never been born, Dante would be Dante, same as ever. That’s how he is.

The thing about his brother is that he and all he is persists. Against the odds and against reason and against Vergil. Even when he shouldn’t, even when there’s not a single living entity who wants him to, he comes out ahead and refined. Unblemished. Perfected.

Dante is the status quo. He is someone who cares about nothing and is affected by nothing. That is what has enabled his strength to flourish so obscenely. To him, even power is nothing. Protecting others is nothing. The world around him is nothing. Vergil, too, is nothing when it suits him.

From when they were kids to when they were teenagers to now, it is the same. Dante is the same. Irreverent, foolhardy, selfish. However, there’s been a change over the years. The status quo has shifted ever so slightly, subtle, unnoticeable, but Vergil can see it. He just hasn’t been able to identify the nature of the change yet, which is incredibly frustrating.

Vergil feels like he should be able to look at Dante and understand, but he doesn’t. There is so much he doesn’t understand, and Dante chafes when he tries.

Vergil is unaccustomed to it. Dante used to hunger for all attention but his especially, and while the first part is matter of course, the latter is lacking. He avoids looking at Vergil and talks around him. When he’s granted Vergil’s sole attention he falters.

It’s on the verge of being awkward. Almost. Such a thing is beneath them.

In the demon world it was not so apparent. Not apparent at all, in fact. Both of their attentions were divided between each other, demons, and other inherent danger present in the environment.

Now, though… 

His brother is trying to look occupied with taking stock of what is and isn’t present in his shop. Apparently, there are magical items, tomes, and devil arms that he did not secure prior to leaving for Red Grave. Their potential missing status is of the utmost importance to his reckless younger brother who couldn’t be bothered to ensure their security beforehand.

What they’re meant to be doing, is discussing this arrangement between them.

Instead, after insisting on making breakfast, and then insisting on waiting for it to digest, Dante said, “What’s the rush? You’re not going anywhere, I have nowhere to be, let me take care of this first.”

It would be a fair point if it had any consistency with Dante’s character. Why he’s running away from this conversation is something Vergil can’t fathom. The only answer he can come up with is that Dante considers it an inconvenience.

Vergil thought to call him out on his avoidance, to verbally corner his brother until he lashed out, admitted it, and then gave in.

As much as he wanted to, though, he refrained.

Vergil’s still assessing how to best approach him. Unlike before—unlike twenty years ago—Vergil is making a genuine effort to work with him. Unlike before, Dante is eager to back off in his deflections and ignore Vergil entirely if the whim strikes, which it often seems to. He rambles at the slightest provocation, and if Vergil redirects them, Dante does the same. 

On and on until Vergil gives up or he does, except when Dante gives up he just stops. There is no fighting. There is no giving Vergil his way. There’s only nothing, and somehow that means the win belongs to Dante.

It’s exhausting. It’s equal parts familiar and unfamiliar.

Vergil isn’t sure what to do with it. 

It is as though the Dante he knows is there, but he lurks underneath this hollow shadow’s every action, providing credence but limited substance. The two are so overlapped there is not a single loose thread Vergil can tug until the truth of him is exposed.

It’s a curious situation, but perhaps that’s just what happens when someone ages twenty years overnight. 

Not that it feels so abrupt to him. It’s just that the Dante in his memory is more vibrant than anything. Once, he made up Vergil’s best and worst memories. Now, he is only the best, the only ones worth remembering. The brilliance of him is unmistakable, and is what links his memories into a comprehensible existence. 

It’s not even that Vergil expects him to be who he was twenty years ago. It’s just, if he had ever thought of who his brother would be in the future, this surely isn’t it.

Dante looks over at him for the sixth time in ten minutes. 

Vergil thinks he’s seeking visual confirmation of his presence, because Dante is not convinced he intends to stay.

Vergil can’t fault him that, but he’s not sure what can be done about it. Nothing he says will make him think otherwise. So they’ll both just have to live with the irritation.

However, it turns out something else is the source of his irritation at the moment. “Don’t you have anything better to do than watch me do boring things?”

“I’m waiting for you to finish. So we can discuss our living situation. So, no, I don’t. Entertain me, Dante. Unless you prefer I go out and find entertainment myself.”

“No,” Dante snaps, and then grimaces. He puts a hand to his forehead. “Come on, give me a break here. You can… I don’t know. Sleep.”

“I’m not you. Sleeping isn’t my idea of a hobby.”

“What is? Aside from, you know, being a pain in my ass.”

It’s something Vergil has to think about. In the time he’s had for himself over the years, very little of it went towards leisure. So much of his energy was expended on survival for so long that free time ceased to be free. 

There should be plenty of things he’d enjoy, yet reading is the only answer he can think of. Not that he’d expect Dante to have any human literature worth reading lying around.

His silence must unsettle Dante, because he says, “What about that book you were carrying around? V was carrying around. Whatever.”

“Nero’s holding on to it for me.”

Dante grumbles something under his breath and proceeds to take a swig from a bottle of alcohol nearby. The third, by Vergil’s count. There was the bottle last night, which still sits on his desk. He found another in the bathroom this morning, though it was mostly full. Then, this one he grabbed some time before starting breakfast and he’s three quarters of the way through it.

Vergil cannot tell how affected by the drink his brother is in this moment, or any other moment. The effect—if it exists at all because Dante is blatantly exaggerating it—seems to be inconsistent. He is too sober too suddenly for a truly intoxicated individual.

The curious thing is that he’s drinking for purely human reasons, and Vergil is so far removed from the human experience that he has no idea what those reasons may be. All he really knows is it’s not for the taste and not for the pleasure of it. He’s not completely sure what other reasons there are.

He wonders if Dante would give him a genuine answer if he asked.

Likely not.

“Fine,” Dante eventually huffs. “Talk to me, then.”

“Talk to you about what?”

“You know. The stuff you want to talk about.”

“Are you sure you can afford to be distracted from your important and delicate task?”

Dante gives him a look. He grabs a tome he’s already looked at and sets it in another pile. Then, he starts digging through a nondescript box. It’s as good a sign as any to continue.

“Also,” Vergil says, “isn’t it a little reductive to call establishing ground rules and an identity in the human world ‘stuff’?”

“Everything is stuff. This devil arm. The Yamato. That ancient tome. Pizza. The building we’re in. Everything.” Dante looks at him again. This time his expression is too impassive. He looks away and waves the subject off with his hand like it’ll make up for his incongruence. “Anyway, rules. Sure. The first rule is no stabbing my clients.”

Vergil can’t tell if that’s a joke or his brother actually thinks he’d stab random humans who wish to hire him, potentially them.

Before, he would’ve been able to tell. Or maybe it’s just that there was once a time where Dante would have been more obvious about the distinction.

Vergil ignores it.

“I was thinking more along the lines of cohabitation.”

The bewildered look on Dante’s face is far more recognizable. “You want to talk about chore distribution?”

“I want to talk about how I refuse to live in filth, and if I’m to live here it’s non-negotiable.”

“I don’t want to hear that from you. Did demon-you not have a nose or something?”

Vergil ignores that comment as well. How distasteful that ignoring is his snipes is apparently becoming a habit.

“I won’t tolerate the utilities being shut off, either. How, exactly, do you manage that, Brother? Isn’t demon hunting supposed to pay well?”

Dante sputters. “I’ll have you know running a business is very complicated. There are a lot of expenses. Plus, all this paperwork and taxes and random cuts to your pay for sometimes bullshit reasons. Then, there’s living on top of all that. It can’t be helped.”

Vergil very much doubts that.

“Don’t they call you a legendary devil hunter? I would think a sizable income accompanies such a prestigious title.”

“That’s where you’d be wrong,” Dante says lightly.

Dante has nothing else to offer on the topic, which Vergil did expect but that makes it no less annoying. At least Dante seems to understand what they’re meant to be talking about.

Barely making ends meet is an unacceptable state of affairs. Vergil won’t abide it if he’s to stay here, which means Dante doesn’t get a say in the matter. Maybe he senses that, so he’s making a point to be as difficult as possible so he can continue his degenerate way of life.

Why? What is the point of such a thing, when prosperity is well within reach?

Vergil knows how much he paid to hire him. So Dante is either not working or he’s throwing money away. He’s not overspending on luxuries, that much is certain.

There is not an obvious answer, but whatever the case may be, it is apparent Dante is creating hardship for himself where none should exist. This creates no obfuscation, serves no purpose outside self-indulgent degradation, and for what?

Vergil won’t pretend he’s ever understood his brother’s more complex motivations, but this goes well beyond that.

Dante continues organizing and sorting heedless of him. Then, he takes another drink, this one longer than the previous, finishing off the bottle. Dante glares at it, but sighs shortly thereafter, resigned to the loss. He does seem a little calmer now, his fingers more still and his shoulders lax.

Slowly, it occurs to Vergil that the very nature of this conversation disturbs him for some reason and it makes no sense.

What, exactly, does Dante think is going to happen here?

After a prolonged silence that Dante is happy to linger in, Vergil allows the subject to change. “There’s also the matter of a bedroom. As much as I’d enjoy taking your territory from you, it’s not practical.”

Dante looks up at him, relaxed, the previous line of conversation all but forgotten. “Sure. Not practical.” He seems to hesitate, and then says, “There are a few rooms. You can pick one. We’ll have junk to clear out no matter what, so choose whichever you want. Go take a look right now, even.”

“What if I want yours?”

“Ha ha. I’m not moving all my shit out of my room for you. Didn’t you just say it’s not practical?”

“That’s not how I meant it.”

“Of course it’s not. Weirdo.” Dante sighs and straightens up. “We’ll have to get furniture. There are a few thrift shops in the area we can scavenge. Though, you’ll need a mattress too. And clothes, I guess?” He points at him forcefully. “You, big brother, are going to be in my debt.”

“Aren’t I already in your debt?”

“Ah… Yes,” he says with feeling. “You are. But now you’re in financial debt, too. And financial debt is a bitch.”

“Shall we do that today, then?”

“No. Maybe. I have to find my credit cards. I also need to find out how much I have in my bank account.”

Vergil considers that. He’s never had either of those things, but they don’t sound like they should be time consuming. “That warrants a maybe?”

Dante gestures vaguely with his hands. If it means something, Vergil has no idea what. “Listen.”

Dante says nothing for a solid minute and all Vergil can really think to do is raise an eyebrow at him, trying to prompt him to continue.

“Listen,” his brother says again, firm. “Vergil. Brother. The human world is a strange, wonderful place full of nuance and too many rules to bother keeping track of. Nothing makes sense, and rules are changed and broken on a whim with no notice and no consequences.”

“And what does any of that have to do with you not keeping track of your finances?”

Dante stares at him with the blankest look Vergil has ever seen on him. “It’s not like that.”

“Okay… What is it like, Dante?”

The faintest flush works its way up his brother’s neck and Vergil frowns at the sight of it. Why is this his reaction?

“What I’m trying to say is, it may take a few days to find out the status of my finances.”

“I don’t understand.”

Dante sighs in aggravation. “I don’t know where my wallet is. So I don’t have any cards, including my ID. I also don’t know my account details or my pin, so. Accessing everything is going to be a pain.”

Vergil frowns. “Don’t they know who you are?”

“Yeah, but it doesn’t matter, because there are procedures to follow. So.” He gestures with his hands to communicate something else Vergil cannot decipher. Or maybe it’s just to distract him.

Dante is agitated over this, for some reason.

“Dante,” he says, and his brother goes rigid and focuses on him like they are in the midst of a demon swarm.

Dante lets out a long breath and rolls his eyes. He lets his head hang back, but the sizzling of his nerves simmers down. He takes a seat and leans forward onto his desk to gaze back at Vergil. They’ve been up for several hours but his eyes are still so tired. He looks like they’ve been at this for hours instead of minutes.

“Dante,” he says again. “You said yourself there’s no rush. I’m not going anywhere. Or do you think I’m going to run off because I don’t have a bed, of all things.”

Dante’s smile is defensive and tight. “I’m sure you’d leave me behind for less, honestly.”

“Maybe,” he allows. “If it were a different time.”

“Yeah? And what’s so different about this time, huh?”

Whether he is exactly the same or different in ways that sting, Dante is still Dante. In the end, this where he is most at ease and most himself. This is where he thrives. Why would he want to be anywhere else?

Vergil shrugs. “That’s up to you, Brother.”

Dante scoffs, but doesn’t seem entirely displeased with the answer. The smile on his face has softened. “You sure? If it’s up to me you’re gonna be stuck with me.”

“I will be stuck with you either way.”


End file.
